Goodbye, ENP
My name is Eileen. I am a rising junior at the University of Texas at Austin, where I major in English Language and Literature while simultaneously earning a certificate in Business and Public Policy. For the past six weeks, I've been interning at the ENP headquarters in Jerusalem. On our first day at the job, Ariela gave us a brief tour of the building in which we work. For those of you who don't know, ENP is situated in the Jewish Agency for Israel building. She told us to look out for Natan Sharansky, who can be identified by his signature green hat and strong Russian accent. Six weeks later, and I still haven't spotted him. My eyes remain peeled.
While much of my time at ENP has been spent at a roundtable in Grace's office, working on grant applications, sending thank-you notes, and producing marketing materials, I had one specific experience that will be the cornerstone of my time at ENP. First, allow me to backtrack. When I had my initial interview with Ariela, I didn't know much about the experience and backstory of Ethiopian-Israelis. My time at ENP has been somewhat of a history lesson, and each day I really feel like I learn something new about the Ethiopian-Israeli community. I also really, really like Ethiopian food, of which there is no shortage in this city. ENP had the opportunity to send several kids to summer camps all over the U.S. this summer. Two of the girls going this year just happened to be going to the Jewish summer camp in Texas that I attended for every single summer of my childhood, and where I worked as a counselor the summer before I entered college. Basically, I have very strong ties to this camp and spent most of my formative youth there, singing about Israel and getting sunburns. Grace suggested that I meet with one of the girls and her mother before she was to leave for camp, and I readily agreed. We drove to their home together, about an hour away from Jerusalem.
The girl's mother was incredibly warm, offering me pastries, Ethiopian coffee (in tiny mugs emblazoned with lions and the flag of Ethiopia), and crackers. Though there was a slight language barrier, Grace and I were able to answer all of her and her daughter's questions about the camp and what it would be like. Towards the end of the conversation, her mother looked at Grace and me and said very deliberately: "I just want to make sure she (her daughter) will be safe and happy." I think that the reason this stuck with me was that it was a very universal hope to have. Initially, I found it difficult to relate to a lot of the Ethiopian-Israeli experience - the oppression, the arduous exodus, the journey of finding one's footing in a foreign country. That being said, I really think that everybody can relate to the mother's message; everybody wants their loved ones to be safe and happy when experiencing new things. This is part of the reason why traveling, working and engaging with new and different people is so deeply important. One will come to find that almost every person, no matter where they are in the world, no matter their background, has similar, intrinsic human experiences. Having these conversations brings the world closer together. Before I left, she blew a kiss my way and sent me off with snacks for the bus ride home.
While much of my time at ENP has been spent at a roundtable in Grace's office, working on grant applications, sending thank-you notes, and producing marketing materials, I had one specific experience that will be the cornerstone of my time at ENP. First, allow me to backtrack. When I had my initial interview with Ariela, I didn't know much about the experience and backstory of Ethiopian-Israelis. My time at ENP has been somewhat of a history lesson, and each day I really feel like I learn something new about the Ethiopian-Israeli community. I also really, really like Ethiopian food, of which there is no shortage in this city. ENP had the opportunity to send several kids to summer camps all over the U.S. this summer. Two of the girls going this year just happened to be going to the Jewish summer camp in Texas that I attended for every single summer of my childhood, and where I worked as a counselor the summer before I entered college. Basically, I have very strong ties to this camp and spent most of my formative youth there, singing about Israel and getting sunburns. Grace suggested that I meet with one of the girls and her mother before she was to leave for camp, and I readily agreed. We drove to their home together, about an hour away from Jerusalem.
The girl's mother was incredibly warm, offering me pastries, Ethiopian coffee (in tiny mugs emblazoned with lions and the flag of Ethiopia), and crackers. Though there was a slight language barrier, Grace and I were able to answer all of her and her daughter's questions about the camp and what it would be like. Towards the end of the conversation, her mother looked at Grace and me and said very deliberately: "I just want to make sure she (her daughter) will be safe and happy." I think that the reason this stuck with me was that it was a very universal hope to have. Initially, I found it difficult to relate to a lot of the Ethiopian-Israeli experience - the oppression, the arduous exodus, the journey of finding one's footing in a foreign country. That being said, I really think that everybody can relate to the mother's message; everybody wants their loved ones to be safe and happy when experiencing new things. This is part of the reason why traveling, working and engaging with new and different people is so deeply important. One will come to find that almost every person, no matter where they are in the world, no matter their background, has similar, intrinsic human experiences. Having these conversations brings the world closer together. Before I left, she blew a kiss my way and sent me off with snacks for the bus ride home.
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